


red white and blue upon a birthday cake

by tesselated



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Pre-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-09
Updated: 2014-06-09
Packaged: 2018-02-03 23:56:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1760131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tesselated/pseuds/tesselated
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were close enough to the window that Bucky could see the colors of the fireworks reflecting onto Steve’s face, his hair and teeth tinted blue every few seconds.</p>
<p>“God bless America,” Steve said in a half-joking voice. Patriotism was hard when you barely had enough money to live off of, but on the fourth of July it was always a little easier.</p>
<p>But the fourth was never about America for Bucky anyway, it was about Steve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	red white and blue upon a birthday cake

**Author's Note:**

> this whole thing is based on the title, a lyric from the killers' sam's town. sorry it's super tiny and self-indulgent whoops. also, written late at night and not beta'd, so sorry for any errors that remain.

Bucky had put aside money for the cake, but it’d be hard to tell from looking at it. It was lopsided and the frosting was uneven; a consequence of haggling for the cheapest one, he guessed. 

He was staring at it, the top of the box pulled back, on his train ride home. Before his stop he shut the box again, tying the baker’s twine clumsily around the top and trying to even out the strings. 

It didn’t really matter, he knew, the presentation of it. Steve would scold him for getting it at all. But still, it was the principle of the thing. He so rarely got to give gifts, he liked when they looked nice. 

When he got his key into the door of the apartment, he found Steve sitting on the bed, reading a book in dim lamplight. 

“Was wondering when you’d get in.” Steve said quietly without looking up. 

“Well, here I am.” Bucky said with a grin. He set down the small white box on the counter. “Happy birthday.” 

“Thanks.” Steve said, moving his eyes up from the page in front of him to Bucky, a smile on his face. His gaze slid over to the bakery box, and he frowned.

“Oh god, what’d you do?” Steve muttered, and Bucky gave a small laugh.

“You’re welcome.” Bucky said, grabbing the box by the twine and bringing it over, sitting down on the creaking mattress next to Steve. 

He untied the bow, thin fingers moving carefully. More careful than Bucky could ever be, than he was capable of being. His hands were calloused and had this layer of grime, dirt from factories and the bottoms of the crates he lifted on the docks, that would never wash all the way off. Gentle was difficult for him, his worker’s hands, but it came easier to Steve, who let the bow fall off and took the top off of the box.

He smiled big, bringing up a hand to run through his hair. He was trying to fight off the grin and look disapproving, but even after years of practice, he could never hide from Bucky when he was pleased. 

“You really shouldnt’ve, you know. Really.” Steve said, but Bucky could see the corner of his mouth moving up so he just grinned confidently. “Buck, really. Seriously! Stop looking at me like that.”

“Just eat your damn cake, Rogers.” Bucky said, still grinning. Steve rolled his eyes and reached out a fist to punch Bucky on the shoulder lightly but got up and cut the cake anyway. 

“When are the fireworks?” Bucky asked, leaning back against the wall and closing his eyes. 

“Not sure. Soon, I think.” Steve said, walking back over and setting a plate in Bucky’s lap. 

Bucky opened his eyes to see Steve taking small bites of the birthday cake, the corners of his mouth lifted in a way that made Bucky think he didn’t know he was doing it. He felt something warm in his chest when he picked up his plate, eating the same measured, careful bites as Steve. They didn’t get sweets often, they needed to make them last if they could.

It was inky dark out, the lights of the city extinguishing the starlight. They sat on the mattress, eating their cake side by side, and they waited. Eventually, they were rewarded with bursts of red and blue, the bangs and pops of the explosions loud enough for them to hear across town. 

Steve grinned at the display, sitting cross-legged next to Bucky, reminding him of when they were kids doing the same thing, except Bucky’s ma was in the kitchen stirring something in a pot that they shared with Steve for dinner and complaining about the noise. Bucky had grown taller and broader since then, and so had Steve in his way, but in moments like this he could still see Steve with his gangly teenage limbs, always too skinny and folded in on himself because it was the pose that came easiest to him in Bucky’s company. Everywhere else, Steve projected himself, jutted out his chin and puffed out his chest and managed to look six foot tall even when he weighed 90 pounds. Around Bucky, he usually dropped that, and it was like Bucky could blink and suddenly remember how Small steve was (is). 

They were close enough to the window that Bucky could see the colors of the fireworks reflecting onto Steve’s face, his hair and teeth tinted blue every few seconds.

“God bless America,” Steve said in a half-joking voice. Patriotism was hard when you barely had enough money to live off of, but on the fourth of July it was always a little easier.

But the fourth was never about America for Bucky anyway, it was about Steve. He was a transplant to America, and though he had known the streets of New York longer than Steve Rogers, they still felt unfamiliar to him, where he knew Steve like the back of his hand. The fireworks only glowed half as bright as Steve anyway. 

“Happy birthday, Stevie.” Bucky said again, and Steve turned to him, his grin softened.

“Thanks.” 

Bucky’s hand found Steve’s waist, placing it there tenderly like if he was too rough Steve would break. Which wasn’t too crazy an assumption, Bucky thought. Steve was still grinning at him, and that warm feeling was back, warmer still when Steve leaned his head into the crook of Bucky’s neck. He picked it back up a few minutes later to lean in and kiss Bucky softly, a chaste thing that made Bucky feel comfortable. 

It was a quiet thing between them, unspoken not out of shame but out of the belief that it was unnecessary. Later, when Bucky had the taste of Steve on his tongue and their breathing was still ragged, he muttered, “Love you,” in Steve’s ear, because it was true and he couldn’t think of a reason not too. 

Steve laughed and said it back like he always did, the city light streaming through the gap in the curtains illuminating that look that Steve always gave him, kinda dopey-looking. 

“You look like even more of an idiot than usual, Rogers.” Bucky told him, and Steve laughed again. 

“Yeah, well, gotta be an idiot for putting up with you, don’t I?” Steve said.

“Gee, you always say the nicest things.” Bucky said, and Steve just shook his head before settling onto Bucky’s chest, his eyelashes fluttering against Bucky’s skin.

“Just shut up, would ya?” Steve grumbled. Bucky chuckled and ran his hand through Steve’s short hair. 

It wasn’t the fourth anymore, past midnight, but in truth, Bucky didn’t need a particular day of the year to celebrate Steve Rogers.


End file.
